CHAPTER I
I was born in a workhouse, in the west of English, my poor mother giving up her last breath as she gave me life. An orphan from my birth, who never even knew who her father was.
Like the celebrated Cora Pearl, who lately married a rich nobleman in Paris, after having been the bright particular star amongst les files du monde of that great city; I also had a very common name, hers, I believe, was Emma Crutch, mine nothing more than Phoebe Smith, the same as my poor mother's.
Well, to go on with my story. I believe that as I got out of babyhood I grew so intelligent and pretty that I became a general pet amongst all the officials of the workhouse master, matron,
doctor, etc., everyone seemed to take an interest in little Phoebe, and thanks to natural quickness, my education was far better than usually the result of such surroundings, but you may guess I had many very curious adventures even in my earliest days of girlhood.
The matron often sent me messages to the rector and others in our village, as she knew it gave me pleasure to run out now and then.
Our rector was a nice old gentleman, nearly eighty years of age, and he would often ask me into his study, under pretence of examining me, to see how my education was going on. The old man really seemed to feel his feet a little during these visits, and generally gave me sixpence for a nice kiss before he would let me go. Of course I was always glad to go to the rectory, especially as Mrs. Wilson, the housekeeper, often gave me sweets and cakes in addition to the parson's sixpences.
At last I was upon quite familiar terms with him, and used frequently to sit on his knee and kiss him, as he called me a dear little pet, and very frequently his hands would go up under my clothes, till they felt my thighs and even something else, as he explained to me what a pity and shame it was that the guardians did not allow drawers, 'You would look so pretty little Phoebe, properly dressed,' he would say and go on all the while taking liberties which at the time my innocence did not see any harm in.
I was nearly ten years old, when one day, our matron told me that Mrs. Wilson at the rectory wanted me to help her for the afternoon, if I could be spared, 'so you had better make yourself nice, and go at once, my dear,' and I did not want telling twice.
The old parson was delighted to see me.
'Mrs. Wilson sent for my pet to spend the afternoon with me, as she is going out, and I have such a surprise for you, Phoebe,' he said.
The housekeeper was soon gone, and I now believe it was a regular planned thing between them, as when he died he left her a house and two pounds a week for life.
Leaving my straw hat and cloak in Mrs. Wilson's room, he led me to the study, where he took me on his knee and almost stifled me with kisses.
'What do you think I have got for my pet?' he asked.
'Is that all you think of, Phoebe? Wouldn't you like to see yourself in fine clothes, eh?'
I jumped off his knee in delight, as I clapped my hands, exclaiming, 'You old dear, let me see them, I don't believe you have got them!'
'Open that parcel there, and I must help you put them on,' he said, pointing to a large brown paper package on a chair in one corner.
The end of it was there was a complete outfit, little low necked silk dresses, stays, petticoats, drawers, chemise, etc., trimmed with lace, and even silk stockings, and such beautiful little slippers with high heels and buckles of silver.
How his hands trembled as he helped me first to strip, and then to put on all this finery which quite fired my young imagination, and made me think of the possibility of yet being a real lady, as I knew I was beautiful. Even when quite naked it banished all ideas of anything wrong, I only thought the old parson was fond of his pet, and wanted to please me.
His hands wandered over every part of me, before the dressing was commenced, then when I stood before him, only dressed as far as my stays, petticoats, and drawers, he took no end of time turning me round and examining if everything fitted properly.
Then he began to tell me what a naughty boy he was, that I ought to play at being schoolmistress, and whip him well.
The fun of the thing took possession of me at once, and as he had often shown me a birch rod, and said he would use it some day if ever he found me a naughty girl, I knew the drawer where I could lay my hand upon it.
'So I will, you bad boy, I know where Tickle Toby is kept,' I said, getting the rod out.
He took it from my hand, and said, 'Now, Miss Phoebe, don't spare my bottom. I have been so naughty, and if you do it nicely you shall soon come to live with us, and be my schoolmistress very often.'
Nothing would do but I must take his breeches down and birch him well, which at last I did, and he was so impudent, and tried all he could to irritate me by calling me 'a cruel little wretch, an ugly thing, etc.,' that I paid him out finely.
The scene always amuses and tickles my fancy even after all these years, and I do not know to what lengths we might have gone after a while, had not the poor old rector died very soon after, and so dispelled all my dreams of finery, etc., for a time.
One of my best qualities has always been secrecy as to what I did, so no one, unless it was Mrs. Wilson, even guessed at my game with the rector, poor old fellow.
The master of the workhouse was in the habit of inflicting personal chastisement on any of the boy or girl inmates who gave cause for correction, this I had long known and now felt quite a curiosity to see how he managed it, especially with the big girls and boys.
This could only be accomplished by hiding myself in a small ante-chamber which led into Mr. Watson's business room; there was a halfglass door with a curtain, which I could easily
draw on one side and peep. The further side of the master's room had a staircase leading to a work-room, so that each culprit entered at one door and was sent away to work by the other.
Mondays the girls were whipped, and Wednesdays he birched the troublesome lads or boys.
I suppose it was only natural that I should most wish to see a boy stripped, so the first Wednesday I could manage it I shut myself in an empty cupboard in the ante-room about the usual whipping time, and soon heard Mr.
'I guess you'll remember this for some time, or my name's not Watson!' said the master, almost grinding his teeth, he appeared in such a rage.
'Pray be cool, sir,' said the matron, 'don't let your temper carry you away, no doubt the boy's been very insulting to both of us, and well deserves what you will give him, only think of his calling you an old b-r, and me a bitch — indeed, when I'm so kind to every one in the house!'
Although she talked to him about being cool, she looked very Rushed herself, as she helped to pull down the lad's breeches, thus exposing to my view all the male paraphernalia of manhood, slightly adorned with a fringe of soft dark hair, evidently only recently just beginning to grow.
